25th.—Strong N.W. winds lately, the ship rocking to the breeze, and rubbing her poor sides against the ice, producing a creaking sound which is far from pleasant. More ice squeezing, and a further inroad upon our barrier; it has yielded slightly, nipping the ship, inclining her to port, and lifting her stern about a foot. Occasional groanings within, and surgings of the ice without.
Our boats, provisions, sledges, knapsacks, and equipment are ready for a hasty departure,—beyond this we can do nothing; as long as our friendly barrier lasts we need not fear, but who can tell the moment it may be demolished, and the ship exposed to destruction? I am scribbling within a foot of the sternpost—in fact, there is a notch in my table to receive it; and I sympathize with its constant groanings; the ice allows it no rest.
27th.—Strong N.W. gale with a return of cold weather. We have drifted 39 miles in the last forty-eight hours! The lane is open; the whole pack appears to have plenty of room to drift, and, I am happy to add, is taking advantage of it,—so much so that the smaller pieces floating freely in the lane can hardly go at the same pace. Our remaining winter companion, the iceberg, was in sight a few days ago, far away to the N.W.; it may be still visible from aloft, but these March gales cut so keenly, that the crow's-nest is but seldom visited.
31st.—Another N.W. gale; it is also spring tides, and this conjunction makes one fearful of ice movement and pressure; but it seems as if the pack had more room to move in, as it does not close much. Seals are often shot, bear tracks are common, and narwhals are frequently seen migrating northward. The bears must prefer the night-time for wandering about, else we could not help seeing them; we often find their tracks within a few hundred yards of the ship.
Although the last, yet this is the coldest day of the month—the thermometer down to -27°. The mean temperature for March has been unusually high, -3°; whilst Lieutenant De Haven's was -17°. Notwithstanding that heavy S.E. gales have three times driven us backward, yet we have advanced 100 miles further down Davis' Straits.
Apr., 1858.
BREAKING UP OF ICE.
6th April.—To-day we enjoy fine weather, the more so since it comes after a tremendous northerly gale of forty-eight hours' duration. Two days ago the friendly old floe, so long our bulwark of defence, was cracked; the lane of water thus formed soon widened to 60 yards, passed within 30 yards of the 'Fox,' and cut off three of our boats. Yesterday morning another crack detached the remaining 30 yards from us, and as it widened the ship swung across the opening; as quickly as we could effect it the ship was again placed alongside the ice and within a projecting point; had it closed only a few feet whilst she lay across the lane, the consequences must have been very serious. Even to effect this slight change of position we were fully occupied for four hours; for the gale blew furiously, and thermometer stood at 12° below zero, and the cold was very much felt; our hawsers were frozen so stiff as to be quite unmanageable, and we were obliged to use the chain cables to warp the ship into safety.
Throughout yesterday the wind continued extremely strong and keen,—fortunately the ice remained perfectly still: our funnels refused to draw up the smoke; so that between the suffocation, the cold, and anxiety lest the ice should move, our Easter Monday was sufficiently miserable. The half of our poor dogs were cut off from the ship by the lane, and continued to howl dismally until late, when the new ice over the lane was strong enough to bear them, and they came across to us.
To-day we have recovered the boats, shot four seals, seen two whales, and much water to the eastward; we are in latitude 67° 18' N., and highly delighted with the rapidity of our southern drift.